


Make a Wish

by EmilyFairy



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Angst, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-22
Updated: 2006-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 12:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14402262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyFairy/pseuds/EmilyFairy
Summary: It all fell to pieces anyway, on my 40th birthday. All I can remember is a chocolate cupcake, rainbow sprinkles scattered across the top, with a candle stuck in the middle, leaning slightly off center. He pulled a lighter out of his pocket, and flicked it, making the flame leap to life. I remember being mesmerized by his thick fingers, by the candlelight flickering across his face.He smiled and said, "Make a wish."





	Make a Wish

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of Ryan's birthday today. :)

He always calls at midnight. It can be one or two or even three o'clock in the morning for him, depending on where he is this week. But on my birthday, he always makes sure that he calls at midnight.

He doesn't say he misses me, doesn't give me sweeping declarations of undying love. We're too old for that shit anyway, and besides, I already know. Mostly he talks about what he's been doing, tells me his entire repertoire of stupid jokes, makes me laugh. 

He's still the only one who can knock me out laughing with just a well-timed word or two. I always picture him with that teasing smile tugging at his lips on the other end of the line, and he always says that he wishes he could see my face. 

We avoid talking about our families. He knows I'll be having my usual cake and ice cream extravaganza with the wife and kids. I know he'll be calling his own family, after he's gotten a good night's rest.

"When?" he sometimes asks me, and he can't hide the note of desperation that creeps into his voice, not from me. 

I never know how to answer him. Because it isn't that simple. It was, once. He could have had me back in Vancouver-- I offered, but he turned me down. He said it wasn't a good idea, that we couldn't, we _shouldn't_. And I should have said, "I don't care", gone for it anyway, but I didn't. I let it go, let _him_ go, even though I knew he wanted it too.

It all fell to pieces anyway, on my 40th birthday. All I can remember is a chocolate cupcake, rainbow sprinkles scattered across the top, with a candle stuck in the middle, leaning slightly off center. He pulled a lighter out of his pocket, and flicked it, making the flame leap to life. I remember being mesmerized by his thick fingers, by the candlelight flickering across his face.

He smiled and said, "Make a wish."

I blew out the candle, pushed aside the cupcake, and kissed him, right there in the kitchen, when my family could walk in at any time. It was sweet and slow and soft, just like my wish, and when he pulled me closer I knew it had come true. 

"Happy birthday," he whispered later, from the circle of my arms, while we lay sprawled on a cheap motel mattress.

"When?" he asks me, after our conversation winds down, when it's damn near two o'clock in the morning and almost five on the East Coast.

 _Tonight,_ I want to tell him. It's the memory of that kiss, the first floating fall, that tempts me most. _Tonight, I'll meet you anywhere you want, you and me._

"Soon," I promise him instead after a brief hesitation. "Someday."

"I'm making a wish," he says. "On _my_ birthday. I always do."

My eyes tear up, and I duck my head in shame. But it didn't have to be this way. We shouldn't have to wish in the middle of the night.


End file.
